


you can send your dove to any other place (just give me a star in the night)

by sammyspreadyourwings



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Exchange, HalloQueen, Haunted Houses, Horror Elements, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Nyctophobia, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings
Summary: The boys, finally on a break between touring and recording follow Freddie's suggestion at staying in a private hotel. It's entirely possible that this hotel is haunted, but Brian is more inclined to believe that there's an explanation that makes sense before ghosts.
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30
Collections: HalloQueen





	you can send your dove to any other place (just give me a star in the night)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RushingHeadlong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/gifts).



> HalloQueen is upon us. I figured since it wasn't halloween centric I can post it early. Most because I really do like how this piece turned out   
> But hopefully the person (and other people) like it as well, so please enjoy!  
> As always, ask me if there's anything you need tagged.
> 
> Oh my prompt:  
> Poly!Queen  
> -Queen Staying in a Haunted Hotel/ Haunted Venue

Brian lifts his eyes when Freddie claps his hands as they pulled up to the Chateau de… Chateau le…

“What is the name of this place again, Fred?” Brian asks.

The building looks like a building, but there is something deeply unsettling. Brian rubs a hand down his face, it looks cheery, with white walls and a blue roof. The windows are beautiful arches and even from here, he can see the stained-glass circle that would probably be shining into the attic. He clears his throat, but the feeling remains.

John reaches out and squeezes his hand briefly before tucking his back into his lap.

“Ratty recommends it, something about hearing it from a girlfriend of his,” Freddie answers, “and then I had Phoebe make the arrangements.”

“I thought we’d spend the break on the water,” Roger rests his hand against his cheek staring at the building, “I have a boat and a boat license but I haven’t got to use it once.”

“What fun is sand?”

“What fun is a weird building?” Roger replies, “and who uses black terracotta?”

Brian blinks and looks back to the building. The blue shingles – no Roger is right it is black terracotta. He runs another hand down his face.

“Sailing sounds lovely,” Brian says.

“See!”

John chuckles, “that’s because it has to do with water.”

He shrugs his shoulders. John has him there, a week on the beach seeing Roger in his “proper yachting” attire (while the others are in swimsuits) and lounging on the deck of a ship without fear of a pap or fan stumbling on them sounds incredible. Not to mention the sex, Brian hums.

“Dirty thought!” Roger reaches forward and pinches his thigh.

Brian yelps and swats the hand away from him, “I thought we stopped that!”

“Never,” the three of them say in unison.

Brian rolls his eyes and looks back to the building. The feeling is still deep in his stomach and he shakes his head. It is a building, a lovely hotel recommended to them by their longest employed roadie, and Phoebe won’t risk his boss getting murdered. He yawns and nods his head; it is just the stress from finishing up a tour and the threat of more long months of recording.

They won’t be in Munich and Brian finds he can’t complain about that, and Freddie has been considering staying closer to London.

Finally, the car stops, and they scramble over each other to get out of the car. Brian sticks his hands in his pockets and blinks his eyes at the sudden wave of dizziness. John reaches out and has his arm on his shoulder.

“Guess we’re all a little exhausted,” John says.

Brian nods, they had barely finished the last concert before being whisked across the globe to France to begin their two weeks stay in the Chateau. Hotel, Brian amends, he doesn’t know the full name of this place and he lets out another long sigh.

“Hope their beds are decent.”

Roger leans against him, “aw, out of dirty thoughts?”

“Mm, I’ll be asleep, but you can do whatever you’d like with me.”

The blue darkens and Brian barely suppresses his grin long enough to get his fingers around the skin of Roger’s arm, “dirty thought!”

“Bastard you led me on!”

“It’s only leading on if I don’t follow through…” Brian muses, “but maybe not tonight.”

Freddie clears his throat, “ahem. The owner is coming to greet us, keep it in your pants, boys.”

The owner is a small man. He has a round stomach and looks like he walked straight out of history. Brian tilts his head and wonders if that is the gimmick of this place. As he lifts his head, he notices an observatory on the far side of the building. The hatch is open, and he grins, maybe he still has a few hours in him.

“Welcome!”

Brian turns back to see the man addressing him. Roger shifts a little, ready to help with translating if needed. John snickers and Brian laughs, if Roger can translate fluently then the owner is having a wildly different conversation than they expected.

“Queen, yes? We are so honored to be humbled by your presence.”

Ah. It is their gimmick then.

“I am Emmanuel Peltier. Before I show you a tour, you are aware that once you are settled in I will only be here every morning to attend to the staff? The staff is meant to remain unseen as well, you are as alone as ones can be.”

Brian blinks, realizing that is probably why Freddie chose this place. There seems like a lot of privacy, not like they would get on Roger’s boat but very close. He smiles gently, this break might be more fun than he previously thought.

“Yes, yes,” Freddie waves his hand.

“And you are aware that there have been reports of hauntings?”

“Yes.”

He looks over and sees John rolling his eyes and shoving his hands in his pockets. Brian can’t say he believes in ghosts, but they have never been _disproven_ and it would be a flaw as a man of science to say something is impossible without the data to support it.

“Roger don’t taunt the ghosts,” Freddie turns around, “but yes, my personal assistant told me everything about how you operate and about the supposed rumors around this place.”

“The tragedy last year was simply unfortunate.”

“Tragedy?” Brian asks.

“It’s nothing, darling,” Freddie says a little too fast.

“Freddie,” Brian frowns.

“It’s like the studio in Munich.”

Brian wrinkles his nose but keeps quiet. He hates places with years of tragedies behind them. There is nothing to be done about them, a tall building will always be tall, and the desperate will find away – he just doesn’t like the energy.

It explains his initial feelings then – he hated that studio in Munich the second he saw the doors. Freddie reaches behind him and Brian takes his hand before tucking it into the pouch of his jumper. Emmanuel leads them into the house.

The entryway is grand. Heavy oak arches stretch to the ceiling with filagree of birds and it smells old. He sees a few antiques scattered on the table. There is a large tapestry on the hallway wall. It covers from floor to ceiling, and there are a few fraying spots, and spots where it looked like it had been purposely damaged.

The claw marks along the bottom make Brian step closer to Freddie then shakes his head, reasoning that it was a cat.

“Hmm, shame, it’s a beautiful tapestry,” Freddie muses looking at a spot where a circle had been burned over someone's face, as though someone had snubbed a cigarette out over it.

Brian reads the name, Yvonne Rousselle, before looking at their guide.

“We don’t know if it was the cause of a guest or if it was the previous owners, perhaps the original family.”

Brian shrugs looking back at John and Roger who both have moved closer to each other. As he opens his mouth to ask a question, he sees a shadow peak out of the hallway. He turns his head to face it clearly, but whatever it had been is gone. The skin of his palms is dry, but it wakes him up slightly as he pulls them down his face again.

He feels Freddie’s hand rest against the small of his back, “could we perhaps get the tour tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Emmanuel says, “the bedrooms are in separate wings of the house. We only have a few rooms available to guests and several are being remodeled.”

Roger says something to John, his voice is gentle. Brian doesn’t mind having his own room, but separate wings seems a bit much. What if something happened during the night? And he knows John won’t use his.

“Finally get our own space,” Brian jokes.

John lightly taps his arm before laughing quietly, “I’ll be looking for the best room to sleep in.”

“Just you and me in a room, John?” Brian widens his eyes, “might end up with a murder mystery.”

“Oh, it won’t be a mystery.”

Brian blinks before turning to Roger, “should I be concerned?”

“Probably not,” Roger shrugs, “but don’t be an arse and you won’t have to worry about it.”

He huffs but stumbles as Freddie eagerly pulls him forward, “aren’t you excited?”

As Freddie says that, his hair stands up the back of his neck and he looks around for that odd shadow again. When he doesn’t see it, he speeds up so that he is shoulder to shoulder with Freddie.

“Are you okay, darling?”

“Yeah,” Brian says quietly, “probably more exhausted than I thought.”

“That’s because you refuse to sleep on planes,” Freddie says gently, bumping shoulders.

“Well, it’s the best way to get fourteen hours of uninterrupted time.”

“I can think of one weekend that disproves that – “Freddie jumps.

Both John and Roger are pulling their hands back and snickering at each other, “dirty thoughts!”

Emmanuel turns around with a confused look on his face. Brian turns his head in time to avoid laughing at the poor man, Roger has his lips pressed together looking away with as his shoulders shake with giggles. John doesn’t have any expression on his face as he takes in a vase with mild interest.

Freddie shakes his head at them.

They walk slowly through the house, Emmanuel does give part of the tour, pointing out anything interesting but Brian suspects that he is giving less information than he would otherwise.

“And now we enter the first of five bedroom wings,” Emmanuel spreads his arms wide, “only four are open to the public, the fifth is reserved for staff as it had been when this was in the ownership of the Rouselle’s.”

“This wing is called the Royal Wing. Mr. Mercury, this is where you will be staying.”

Freddie grins, “I do like the sound of that.”

Brian looks around, the hallway is filled with beautiful reds and golds and blues and silvers. He suspects that this would have had the most expensive décor too. Roger sneaks up to be by Fred so Brian slides back to stand next to John.

“Bit gaudy, isn’t it?” He is staring a ceramic lion head vase.

He hums, “Freddie loves it.”

John gives him a look before running his finger along the wood seam of the wall.

“Now the Rouselle’s were wealthy, but certainly not to the level of being of note to the monarchy. This wing was of course reserved for the royalty, but they were a common stop for nobles on their summer trips and so this is where they would put them up for the night.”

Brian yawns.

“Going to sleep during class, professor?” John asks.

“I might. History has never been my favorite.”

John snorts, “you can’t remember your breakfast, dear. I can’t imagine you care much for anything past a decade old – unless, of course, it’s a scientist.”

“Well, that’s,” Brian crosses his arms and looks away.

“And here is your room.”

The four of them lean into the room. Most of the space is taken by the bed. Dressers are wedged between the bed and wall; it doesn’t look like one could get the drawers open. Roger backs up, bumping his head against Brian’s chin. He frowns and gets one last look around the room before he sees a creepy doll on one of the high mounted shelves. He grimaces at the painted eyes, staring straight at him, and steps away.

“The rest of us are probably going to be on straw and slats,” Roger rubs a hand up his arm before slipping it under his shirt and tugging on his shoulder.

Brian offers his hand, which Roger squeezes briefly.

“Perhaps. Does your yacht have more than one nice bed?”

“It only needs one nice bed.”

Brian chuckles.

“Well, it's only big enough for one nice bed,” Roger pouts.

“It’s a beautiful room.”

“There are extra blankets in the closet if you need it,” Emmanuel says.

“Thank you.”

Freddie and John step back, Freddie pulling Roger up next to him as he talks about the colors and fabrics. Brian watches as Roger nods excitedly and Brian hopes they aren’t going to make them play in velvet.

The décor slowly gets less extravagant as they move down the hall. Brian hopes that the tour won’t last much longer.

“This is the west wing. Mr. Deacon, you’ll be staying in the room here, it has a lovely view of the gardens from your room.”

John sighs, “that’s nice.”

Emmanuel seems let down by John’s reaction as he leads them through the closed doors, all with posted _Do Not Enter_ signs.

“Not too far from Fred,” Brian whispers.

John hums and sticks his hand in Brian’s jumper, “that’s good. When the ghosts come haunting, at least Fred and I will have each other.”

“And here I thought you were the skeptic,” Brian says in mock surprise.

“Well if ghosts are found to be real, which they aren’t, I’m certainly not dealing with it alone.”

It is annoyingly logical and Brian knocks John’s hand out of his pouch. John laughs.

“Here is your room.”

Like Roger had guessed this room has only a full-sized bed. The dresser is much smaller, one wall is taken up by windows, and in the evening light the garden does look quite beautiful. The orange light catches on the white stone of the fountain, and Brian can barely make out the sun dipping below the horizon.

“This is nice.”

Emmanuel wastes no time in moving away from the West Wing. Brian drinks everything in. This is truly a palace-sized manor. Much bigger than their Duckingham Palace and Garden Lodge. Naturally, they had more bedrooms and bathrooms than they could ever use, but it might take ten minutes to go from one side to the other not fifteen from wing to wing.

Brian turns around when he feels like someone is watching him. There is a quiet thud, as though someone is walking rapidly on the hardwood. They sound close too, Brian turns around. The hallway behind them is empty.

He shakes his head, it was probably just a staff member, doing their best to remain unknown. Then he notices that John is also looking behind them, he nods. The staff member was probably watching them in curiosity or perhaps they were a fan.

“This is the Hall of Windows.”

Brian nods as they wall down a hall with one wall completely made from windows. There is still a tiny sliver of sunlight, but the rest of the grounds have gone dark, and even this hallway seems to have a purple-gray glow. Freddie swaps places with Roger so that he is closer to the wall.

He looks down and grimaces, even with his head for heights the ground looks unnaturally far away, they have only climbed three flights of steps. No wonder why Freddie wants to be away from it.

They reach a T-section, punctuated by a very large portrait.

“Is that Queen Anne?” John frowns.

Roger squints, “I think so.”

“Ms. Yvonne was what one might call a lover of England, particularly of your Queens” Brian and John share a tiny smile, “her mother indulged her as the only child.”

Brian raises his brow in surprise, “when was Yvonne alive?”

“She was born in 1764.”

“I see.”

“She was not killed in the Revolution. Rather she died in _Charenton_ , an asylum, in 1786.”

“Was she mentally ill or was it because she was doing “men’s things” as a woman?” Roger asks.

“Unfortunately, the lady of the house, Yvonne’s mother, was never reported to say, and so we have rumors claiming both things, but it is likely due to her dealing with the occult.”

Roger nods and the huffs. Freddie reaches out and rubs the back of his neck which eases some of the tension. After a second Roger bats him off but does step closer to Freddie.

“Mr. May, your room is the furthest from everything. I apologize, but I think that you might enjoy the access to the observatory?”

Brian nods eagerly, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“That is wonderful to hear. We will see Mr. Taylor’s first as it is just over here.”

Roger’s room almost mirrors John. Only there isn’t a wall of windows. Instead, there is an empty cabinet and shelves. They peer in and Roger frowns.

“Ah, this used to be Ms. Yvonne’s room. Her collection of dolls has been taken out to be restored, unfortunately, there was some water damage last year.”

John puts a hand behind Roger’s shoulders, “better to have bare walls than an army of dolls.”

Roger nods, “yeah. Hopefully, the shelves won’t fall off because the wall is rotting.”

“Oh, all severe water damage has been repaired, we prioritized it.”

Roger sends Brian a strange look. He nods, wondering about the quick assurance. Brian shrugs, probably something to do with legal issues. They move away from Yvonne’s room.

“How do you feel about sleeping in a room where the occult was happening?”

Roger rolls his eyes, “it was a girl who probably had an imaginary friend. Made mud pies, wore pants.”

“Sounds like you’re describing your childhood. You’re sure you aren’t some young French girl?” John dodges under Roger’s hand.

“ _Salaud,_ I’m glad you’re on the other side of the house, otherwise I’d fear my possessed self might smother you with a pillow.”

“Play nice boys,” Freddie says without turning around.

Brian laughs and steps forward to be next to Freddie again.

“You’ll be alright, Brimi?”

He shrugs, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s a big house but it’s just a house.”

“Okay, well my bed is big enough for three.”

“Poor Roger, all alone in the occult room!”

“I don’t like any of you,” Roger grumbles.

John pulls him into a quick one-shouldered hug before dropping it and tripping Roger slightly.

“Hey!”

Brian rolls his eyes and faces forward so he can memorize how to get to Roger’s room at least. If he can find Roger, then he can probably manage since he is sure Roger has already memorized the path they took, and it won’t take him much longer to memorize the fastest ways around the house.

Brian’s wing of the house is dark. He noticed that there isn’t much electrical wiring throughout the house, which would explain why there are so many windows. The only window is at the corner of the hallway.

“When they built it, they thought it would be much better to see the stars without less light.”

The logic makes sense, Brian supposes. Although there is looming darkness in front of him that seems to want to swallow him. Freddie reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“Brian?”

“I’m okay,” he smiles – surprised his voice isn’t shaking.

His room is near the ladder up to the observatory. It is smaller than the other ones that they have seen but it makes up for it with the large bookshelf, even from this distance he can tell is filled with books.

“Well, I’ll walk your friends back to their room, and I’ll see you in the morning,” says Emmanuel.

Roger looks at him and Brian shakes his head.

“Thank you. The room looks nice.”

John reaches out and squeezes his hand, “see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, don’t get murdered by the doll,” Brian grins.

Roger shivers.

After a few more moments of ‘good nights’ and ‘see you in the mornings’ they depart. Emmanuel seemed to have a good sense of the room and had left them long enough for each to sneak a quick goodnight a kiss.

Brian drops onto the bed, frowning when he realizes his suitcase has already been placed in his room. He supposes Phoebe was responsible for the room set up. For a moment he thinks about pulling a book out and reading, but the bed is much softer than he was expecting.

He barely has time to kick off his shows before falling asleep.

_Creak._

Brian jerks awake. He blinks trying to figure out what it is that woke him up. There are three quick thuds outside of his door and then a sharp knock. His brain catches up with what is happening, and he shivers as his socked feet touch the wooden floor.

Tears bead at his eyes as he yawns. He smacks his hand against his mouth as he yawns again, wondering what time it is. Brian pulls his arm to his wrist and stares at the numbers before giving up and deciding somewhere between midnight and two am is all he needs.

Brian opens the door and stares into the dark hallway. He swallows and pokes his head out, expecting to see Roger or John or Roger and John snickering only a few meters away. No one is out there, and he looks to the other side.

“Probably in your dream,” Brian mumbles to himself before closing the door and crawling back into the bed.

This time he does have enough time to pull the quilt over his body before falling asleep.

* * *

Brian finds his way to the dining room thanks to the help of a staff member. He had wandered around the chateau until he found himself into the staff wing.

John and Freddie were already in the dining room, Freddie in John’s lap as John breaks off pieces of a muffin to feed him.

“Morning, Bri,” John greets.

“Morning.”

Brian finds the largest cup that he can find before pouring it to the rim with coffee. He sips at it loudly, knowing how much John hates that noise. Predictably, John throws a grape at him.

“Sleep well?” Freddie asks.

“Creaky house,” Brian replies, “woke me up a couple of times, but otherwise it was restful.”

“Yeah, pretty much the same,” John replies, “Roger must have had the best night of us all.”

Brian looks up when he hears a sharp snort. Roger looks exhausted. He has dark circles under his eyes, and he hasn’t even taken the time to brush his hair.

“Alright there?” Brian asks.

Roger blinks his eyes and reaches for Brian’s mug. He hands it over with a token protest, before reaching for the lighter flavored coffee to brew. He is surprised that they have already gone through a pot this morning. John is their big coffee drinker, but rations himself to two, or perhaps three depending on what they did the night before. Freddie only drinks it during their studio sessions – but he sees a mug in front of them.

“Shit night,” Roger says after he pulls the mug from his lips, “gross, Bri, no sugar?”

“I didn’t have time to fix it before you came in here demanding it.”

“Why was your night so bad?” John asks.

The coffee machine starts to brew and satisfying that it isn’t going to surprise him with any strange noises, Brian pokes around the cabinet. He is a little hungrier than just the cheese and fruit that have been set out for them will be able to sate.

“The house is settling,” Roger says, “noises probably are what made my nightmares come back.”

Brian grimaces and he eyes a purple package and stands on his toes to pull it down to him.

“Darling, why didn’t you come and sleep with one of us?”

Brian opens the package and sniffs, it smells fresh, but he tilts his head to hear Roger’s answer. He thought Roger did visit him last night as a prank.

Roger hums, “I didn’t want to go out of my room – you know that’s when he – so I was worried that I’d run into him. Stupid.”

“It isn’t stupid,” Brian says automatically.

He pulls out two slices of the oat bread, checking for any green spots before he sets the bread on the counter and reaching for a new mug. The hotel’s merchandise, he notices, as it has a picture of a little girl playing with the Ouija board.

“That’s okay, just come stay with me right away tonight,” Freddie says.

He turns around to see that Freddie and Roger are making soft eyes at each other while John looks a little grumpy that he isn’t the center of attention any longer. Brian takes a bite of the bread and watches the interaction with sleepy interest.

John looks up and then wrinkles his nose, “are you eating cold plain bread?”

“It’s oat bread,” Brian replies.

“My mistake. Breakfast of the champions then.”

Freddie squeezes his arm, “Brian you’re welcome to join as well.”

Brian had wondered if he could join the cuddle pile tonight, but he had been more interested in his bread, “thank you for the offer. I was thinking about using the observatory tonight though.”

“Come join us after,” Freddie waves his hand, “it wouldn’t be the first time that your stars have kept you from us.”

He smiles and takes another bite of the bread as the coffee pot tells him that it's done. Roger sticks his mug out, held tightly between both hands. Brian raises his eyes skyward but quickly adds Roger’s preferred amount of sugar into the drink.

“Is it a milk day?” Brian asks.

Roger’s face is hovering centimeters from the cup rim. The smell must be enough to shake off his exhaustion.

“Not today.”

Brian pouts, he wanted a reason to get the jam from the fridge, but now it seems like too much of a hassle to walk across the kitchen. Instead, he leans forward, stealing a few apple slices and folding them into the bread.

“How are you an adult,” John says with a disgusted furrow to his brow.

“My birthday,” Brian says, deliberately waiting until he had a mouthful.

John swipes the crumbs away with his sweater paw, “absolutely horrid. Why do I love you?”

“Well, I think you said it had something to do with my mouth?” Brian grins.

John sighs, “Rog can you pinch him?”

“Coffee.”

“You’re no help. Just wait for it Bri,” John is smiling though.

Before they could continue the banter, Emmanuel steps into the kitchen, wearing dark green period clothes this time.

“Good morning, treasured guests. I hope everything was to your liking?”

“So far,” Freddie grins, “although I have a question about the meals?”

“They will be served promptly at noon and 18:00. The man who made the reservations said that you would be fine with only two provided.”

“We sleep through breakfast normally.”

“Well, when you are ready, please join me in the main hall for a proper tour.”

“Yay,” Roger says breathlessly sarcastic.

* * *

Brian climbs the steps to the observatory. He had played scrabble with the boys before begging off to gaze at the stars. It is a little more dilapidated than he would have guessed. The bottom rung on the latter creaking ominously as he stepped on it. It wouldn’t last much longer, he thinks.

The night air brushes his hair away from his face as he leans forward through the gap looking at the grounds from his vantage point. He can’t see much, not even a light near the road.

“We’re truly alone out here,” he looks up to the sky, “you and me, my beauties.”

He pokes at the telescope for a few minutes trying to figure out how it works, before deciding it is similar enough to the one, he used in Tenerife, surprisingly. It must have been a new edition.

But why?

Well, that’s not important to him, he decides. It is fortunate enough that he gets to use it at all. Especially when Saturn in such a good position tonight. It takes him much longer than he thought it would be to get it into focus and a proper position, but soon enough he is staring at the beautiful blur that is Saturn.

He smiles at it. Staring at it for several minutes, wondering how incredible it is to be at this point in history where he can see something so far away. Things that his ancestors couldn’t begin to imagine. They’ve put a man on the moon – oh! It is a full moon tonight.

After more grunting and hissing as he cuts his hand on a sharp piece of metal – the cover of whatever it is has gone missing – he is looking at the beautiful gray white of the moon. The man stares down at him and Brian lets out another sigh. Wondering what the Earth would look like. He knows, realistically it wouldn’t be much different than the photos.

But then he had thought the same the first time he saw the mountains and the glaciers. There is just nothing like seeing it in person.

Brian hums a quiet lullaby as he watches. They are moving at thousands of miles and yet it looks so still. Perfect serenity. In a way it reminds him of how John and Freddie are. They might be sitting still but their minds are racing – especially when Freddie is composing.

“Wow,” he breathes and leans back.

His back pops and he winces. How long had he been staring at the moon? He rubs a hand down his face and then decides that it is probably too long as his eyes feel so dry. Brian blinks and keeps blinking until tears are wetting his eyes and blurring his vision.

Brian makes sure that the telescope is in good condition as he closes the observatory for the night. His palm scrape has clotted, and he swipes it against his leg and wrinkles his nose. He does need to clean it properly. There is a bathroom not far from his room, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find.

He steps carefully down the ladder, holding onto it tightly when he is greeted with the footsteps from last night again. Someone knocks on his door, and he turns his head enough to see that the weird shadow is right in front of his door. Brian opens his mouth, but his eyes are pulled to the dark void of the hallway. There isn’t any light – not even from the moon.

Which he supposes if its past midnight the window wouldn’t be in the place to catch it.

Brian closes his eyes and steps down, only to lose his balance when his foot feels like something has yanked it out from underneath him and a resounding _crack_ echoes in the hallway. He yelps as his back slams into the ground and he keeps his eyes closed, trying to regain his breath.

The knocking and the steps are gone, and he peeks open one eye to stare into the darkness. Not even his eyesight, which had been adjusted to the night, can see the ceiling. He rolls over onto his front, keeping one eye open before closing it and opening the other one.

It worked for pirates – or was it because they really had a lot of eye problems? Maybe he should read something other than astronomy books someday.

There doesn’t seem to be a shadow – and he shakes his head. A shadow can’t be seen in complete darkness, it is his eyes trying to find shapes.

“Okay. Two minutes,” he mumbles to himself as he stands.

The hallway feels darker. He wraps his hands around himself as he keeps stepping further into it, wishing he had brought a torch or there was something as simple as pathway lighting. Something brushes against his arm and he yells and stumbles until his back hits the corner of the opposite wall.

“Oh. Just hit the wall,” Brian whispers, “Christ, it’s dark.”

He keeps one arm to the side of him and one arm in front of him as he walks.

“A little further,” one of the staff tells him, “to your left.”

Brian turns around to give his thanks, only to see a shadowed face. He stares at it before he steps away and then quickly walks in the direction that the staff member had told him.

“Weird lighting. Trying to find patterns,” he tells himself, and finally, his fingers brush against the door.

“Thank god.”

“Nothing to do with it.”

Brian throws open the door and steps in. His hand slaps against the wall trying to find the light switch. He had seen it earlier; he knows this is one of the few rooms with electricity. It feels like his hand slips threw a spiderweb.

It makes him pull his hand back to his chest. He reaches out with his other one, but it feels like he is touching brick. No, that can’t be right. They had looked like every public restroom he had ever been in. Mirrors and smooth tile. He scraps his finger down, only to feel the roughness of his brick dig into the quick of his nail.

“No, what?”

Brian widens his eyes making sure that he can see, but there is nothing but a fluctuation in the darkness. Nothing with form. He keeps his hands tightly to his body, but he steps forward. It is only half a step before his toes are hitting the wall and his palms are. His hands skim up the wall, but it just feels like cobwebbed walls.

“No, no.” He says, “took a wrong turn. It’s a cleaning closet. Just a… really small cleaning closet.”

Brian turns around, careful to keep his limbs pulled tightly to his body and he shuffles trying to find the door. The wood feels soft against his skin and he has a moment where this is when the lights are going to flicker on, and he will be face to face with a giant worm – a giant dry worm with eyes. He had weird nightmares as a kid, he thinks mildly.

Brian reaches up, just in case there is a pull string, and he thinks he finds one before tugging on it and realizing it had been a thick spiderweb and then he feels eight tiny points of pressure. He shrieks and shakes his hand off, only to smack it against the wall.

It throbs and then makes his other cut throb. He drags his painless hand down the seam of the door sliding it over a few centimeters as he tries to find the knob. Finally, he feels the ridge of the faceplate as he ghosts his fingers down it, only for them to slip into the hole where a door handle had been.

He pushes at the door desperately, but it doesn’t budge. Then he rams his shoulder into, recoiling with the shock. It sends flashes across his eyes and he bumps back into the wall. Brian drops to his knees pushes his hands across the (it feels) dusty floor looking for the handle. It must have fallen off when he slammed it shut, and he just needs to push it back into place.

His hand bumps against an old bucket, and something that feels like a broom handle, but no doorknob.

“This isn’t happening,” he says.

He feels his breathing bounce around the walls.

“When I fell earlier – because the last step was going bad already – I must have hit my head. I’m unconscious and having a dream.”

He sighs tightly, his throat feels like it is closing.

“It’s a vivid dream like Roger has. Just a night terror. Maybe a hallucination because I inhaled some weird mold.”

Try as he might, he can’t get the door open. He feels his fingers start to ache with the effort to pry open the door. Brian scoots back, kicking at it with his feet, but all that happens is his clogs make a dull thunk against the wood.

“Stay,” something whispers behind him.

Brian jumps slamming his knee into the bucket and his head into the door before pressing his back against it. “Just my breath.”

He was breathing and he is terrified so of course, he is hearing things, but the pain in his skull makes him certain that this isn’t a dream and he is trapped in a modern iron maidan.

He is going to die in a forgotten storage closet.

Brian shakes his head, “no, there’s air getting in, I won’t suffocate, and people will notice that I’m gone, which means that they’re going to look and Roger isn’t dumb, he checks closets. I’ll hear them and tell them about the handle. I’ll get out, and we’ll leave.”

If Roger is having nightmares again and Brian is getting locked in random closets, then this must not be the place for them.

“Good plan,” something says.

He shakes his head. He said. He said that because he is so freaked out and he needs to comfort himself. Brian presses his palms to his eyes for a second, before realizing how dirty they must be and ducking his forehead against his knees. His vision would probably be spinning if he could see.

It is just eight hours in the darkest place he has ever been in, the tiniest place he has ever been trapped in. Then he shakes his head, at least in this space he can move his arms and legs.

Brian rests his head against the door and closes his eyes before the scratching _in_ the walls makes him sit upright. He keeps moving his gaze from side to side, hoping that something will magically become visible.

Maybe not the face from before.

He keeps his breathing quiet, but it is quick and shallow, and he feels dizzy. The short gasps aren’t enough, but his heart is moving too fast for him to breathe in deeply. Pain pierces through his eyes and he pinches his nose and tries to fight the pain back, but it doesn’t work.

Brian licks his lips, but his tongue gets caught on the cracks of his lips and he swallows and tries to get some moisture back in his mouth. It doesn’t work and he presses his back further against the wall, imagining it splintering against his back as he pushes. He flexes his foot out and then he jumps at the sensation.

The wall isn’t closer, he is sure of it. Brian reaches out, swatting his hand around until he grabs the broomstick. He shoves on end underneath his armpit and the other out. It clicks against the far wall, but if it did move then he would know. The broom would be enough to stop it.

Brian closes his eyes and tries to count the beats of his heart, only to get distracted and have to throw his hands out wide because he thought the sidewalls are closing in. The rough surface hurts his hand, but he doesn’t care. He stretches his muscle and keeps them locked against the onslaught of the walls crushing him.

His mind floats back to the moon, how she had been so free tonight. How gravity keeps her in place, but nothing is trapping her, not like the room is trapping him and wrapping around him and – oh god is the broom bending. He hears a creak and he reaches out to hold the middle of the stick.

It feels as flat as normal.

“The house is old,” he whispers.

Brian tries to go back and count his breathing but when he passes 115 respirations he has to stop because how many of those were in a singular minute? How many respirations are there normally? You breathe faster when you’re losing oxygen don’t you?

“I’m panicking,” he says and his voice cracks, “that’s why I’m breathing faster, and this isn’t a sealed room. Air can still get in.”

But what if the room closed in on itself, sealing those cracks he is relying on. How quickly does the air cycle?

“Well, if you pass out, its less oxygen,” Brian says, “and you’ll probably survive the night.”

He closes his eyes and keeps his elbows locked. The broomstick is under his arms and both of his feet are planted firmly against the other wall. Brian tries to keep his breathing steady and not think about how the darkness swirls above him waiting to swallow him when the room finally crushes him. How he desperately wishes he has a torch on him. They had lanterns in his room, why hadn’t he grabbed one.

Brian tightens his arms again. There isn’t anything in the dark, he tries to remind himself.

“But you don’t know that,” he whips his head up, afraid of seeing the face again.

He doesn’t know that ghosts aren’t fake, but he doesn’t think they’re real. It’s nothing but his head.

“Bit of a bad place to be, your head.”

His cheek is bleeding from where he has bitten down so hard on it. He spits out the coppery tang, but he doesn’t have any saliva in his mouth, and he feels it slop sadly on his shirt.

“Stop talking to yourself,” Brian mumbles.

He listens as thudding echoes outside of the room, and he tosses his head back against the door. Only to realize that if it is _something_ else, he just let it know where he is at. Then he closes his eyes again, or he just let his partners know where he is, so they don’t miss him.

The handle shakes and Brian scampers away from it, turning the broomstick in his hands and pointing it like a bayonet. Only for light to banish the darkness, he closes his eyes only to peel them open. It hurts but seeing where he makes him feel that much better.

He whimpers when the light falls away from his face. Only to sigh as it bounces off the concrete floor he sits on. Brian grimaces at the paths in the dust his fingers have carved and the spider webs glistening like a silken thread.

“Brian?”

“John?”

He squints, and John lifts the light a little, enough that his face is clear in the darkness.

“What the hell?”

“I – uh – “he coughs, his voice is dry and scratching itself with every word, “got lost I think.”

“You think?” John asks softly, “come out of there Bri.”

Brian does. He doesn’t trust his legs well enough to stand on his own, and now his back has started to hurt from where he fell on it earlier. His calves scream in protests as he fully extends them. What a sight that he must make, spread eagle on the runner in the middle of the floor, but he relaxes.

John crouches next to him, keeping the light focused on his belly, but never away from where Brian can see it.

“Bathroom,” Brian says in explanation.

“You were looking for the bathroom?”

He nods.

“And the door got stuck?” John asks.

He nods again.

“Jeez, how unlucky can you get,” John chuckles, but it sounds nervous, “are you okay?”

“Time?”

“Uh, about three.”

“No.”

“How long?”

“Three hours,” Brian squints, “maybe. Dunno when exactly.”

“Christ,” John reaches out and gently pats his head.

Brian winces because his head is still tender from when he ran it into the door. Not that John needs to know all that happened tonight. Actually… he pushes himself up onto his elbows.

“Why?”

“Ah, we’re going to have to cut the break short,” John rubs the back of his neck, “something about a tabloid story and Freddie’s mum has fallen ill. They’ve taken her to hospital, Phoebe finally got ahold of us.”

“Two nights is enough,” Brian mumbles.

As he feels the space around him, his head starts to come down from where it had gone. It feels like he had drunk his way to another case of hepatitis. He runs his hand down his face, only to grimace when he tastes some of the dirt on his palms.

“Brian!”

He pulls his hands away to stare at them. They are covered in dirt, and the cut he has across the palm of one (which is smaller than he imagined) is leaking blood again. Although he guesses John must be talking about the bruises along the side of his hands and on the tips of his finger from where he had tried to pry the door open.

“You and Rog both,” John mumbles.

“Rog?”

“He had that… sleep demon thing again. It took an hour just to get him to start to be able to move again.”

He grimaces. Roger’s sleeping demons are worse than his nightmares, just the way he stares at _nothing_ and is still so afraid.

“Said it was some weird shadow woman this time, which is new for him.”

Brian shakes his head, a coincidence.

John sniffs and then pulls away with a grimace, “lets towel you off before we find the others. They’ll think you’ve become a ghost; your hair is _covered_ in spiderwebs.”

“Get me to a mirror and I’ll pull them off.”

“Thank you.”

Brian hopes there isn’t a spider on him because he needs John’s steadiness. John holds out a hand and Brian uses it to lift himself.

“Staff is getting your suitcase,” John says as he smacks Brian’s shoulders, clouds of dust fall in front of the flashlight.

“Seriously? Are you sure you weren’t crawling around in an attic?”

John shines the light into the closet. Brian frowns, it doesn’t look as dirty as he feels. Like plaster is clinging to him. He shrugs.

“Probably knocked dirt loose,” Brian grimaces, “I wasn’t exactly calm of thought.”

“Well, you’re out of there now,” John starts to walk.

Brian tries to follow him only for his back to twinge and he doubles over with a soft ‘oof.’

“Brian?”

“Fell on my back earlier, the step went out on the observatory ladder.” Probably.

“This house might be trying to kill you,” John says with a laugh, “full moon nights, right, Bri?”

Brian offers a tiny smile, but even in his mind (however frazzled from being faced with his two worst fears at one time) wonders if the house was trying to kill him. Maybe go after Roger next.

“Yeah, it’s the tides.”

He feels John’s large hand wrap around his back as he is handed the flashlight. Brian takes it and eagerly sweeps it around the hallway. Morning light is already allowing shapes to become more defined as furniture and pictures, but he loves being able to see it all. Walk without fear of falling into it.

Brian laughs when he sees the restroom. He had been going a separate way. No wonder he had found the service closet.

“There you two are!” Freddie hollers.

Roger lifts his head from Freddie’s shoulders, his eyes ringed with even darker purple than yesterday morning.

“Brian, did you fall through the floor of the observatory?”

“Ah,” he starts but John just guides him into the bathroom.

“Freddie, want to switch?”

He hears them say soft words, but he is too busy leaning against the wall in relief at how bright the bathroom is. White tiles and yellow walls with lights around the mirror and shiny counters. No shadows can hide in here.

Freddie enters and pulls him over to the sink before setting the light down, but he doesn’t turn it off.

“Poor, Brimi,” Freddie kisses his lips softly, “John told me.”

“John told me,” Brian says, “I’m sorry.”

“My father has promised my mum is healing well, just a stubborn bought pneumonia. I’ll visit her still, but she isn’t dying.”

“Good to hear.”

“The tabloid caught you and Rog at the restaurant.”

“How?”

“Holding hands, I think,” Freddie wets his handkerchief.

Brian closes his eyes at the soft rag, sighing as the dirt and night are pulled from his skin. He hears the water running, and it is so much nicer than hearing his breathing turn into words.

“Miami has already countered it, saying that it was the timing of the photo,” Freddie rinses the rag and then starts pulling it over his curls, “sticky webs. You’ll have to shower, but we’ll find a better pressured one. You and Rog both need it.”

“Together?” Brian laughs when Freddie pinches his cheek gently.

“Dirty thoughts,” Freddie pulls the cloth over another group of curls, “but Roger’s hand was over yours and Roger is touchier and there might have been a leak that you two had been on your third bottle of wine.”

“Must we lie?”

“Mixed drinks will give the wrong impression.”

“Freddie…”

“For now. But Brian, we have each other in our hearts and homes, is that not enough?”

“I want the world to know.”

“Someday,” Freddie rinses the cloth again, “but for now there are too many idiots in charge, and frankly too many songs that must be heard.”

“I hate it.”

“That’s why you love the stars so much, light even in the darkest of places.”

“Or is that why I hate the dark so much, it takes the light away.”

“I suppose that depends on how full your cup is?”

“You know what I’ll say.”

“And it’s a tragedy that there is only half, to begin with, terrible service.”

Brian chuckles, it is stronger, even as his throat aches to be soothed with water. Perhaps honey and lemon in his tea.

“Ah, I think that should do it,” he is turned to the mirror by Freddie.

His face is less gray, the dirt still is on his hands, but the webbing in his hair is gone. Freddie pushes him forward.

“Wash your hands, there’s a bandage kit somewhere in here.”

“How is Roger?”

“About as well as he normally is, swears he’ll buy this house only to tear it down.”

“I’ll lend him the money,” Brian replies turning on the faucet and rubbing the bar of soap over his hands until it is gray and brown.

It is fascinating watching the grime slide down the sink. His hand stings as he leaves his cut open to the air. Freddie clicks his tongue and pulls it out.

“Shallow.”

“If it were deep, I wouldn’t have waited.”

Freddie gives him a look.

“It's not like I chose to lock myself in the closet.”

“No, you’ve made it very clear you want to burst out of it,” Freddie laughs.

Brian snorts, its quiet and wheezy and he sees Freddie wiggle his brows.

“I think it's dumb.”

“Well, most things are compared to you.”

“Are you calling me smart, Mr. Mercury?”

“A smart arse, how are your hands?”

Brian flexes them. Now that they’re clean he can see the bruises turning from red to purple and he is sure playing guitar is going to hurt for the next week. Most of the bruises are on the pads of his fingers, but some surface under the nail.

“They’re okay.”

There are two quick raps on the door and Roger pushes it open. He yawns, startling himself before keeping his eyes mostly closed.

“Car is here. Stuff is loaded. Bri you’re with me so we can sleep. And you’re sleeping on the plane this time.”

Brian bobs his head, “yeah. Okay.”

Roger stretches out his hand and Brian grabs it before being pulled. He trips over his feet as Roger peers at the bruises with sleepy intensity.

“You’ll live.”

“Outstanding.”

“Unless you keep me up on the flight with your thinking.”

“I am starting to think you and John might murder me,” Brian huffs.

Roger lifts one eyelid open, blue is hazy in exhaustion and his lips quirk up before tugging Brian out of the bathroom.

“Ah, just so you know, next haunted hotel Freddie finds us, we’re sleeping in the same bed, night one.”

“This place isn’t haunted!” John mumbles.

Brian shrugs, “how about we just go to the boat?”

“Seconded,” Roger reaches up on his toes to give Brian a pick on the lips.

“How about a private beach house, that way we get land and sea,” John wraps around Freddie, kissing his neck, “since we’ll lose Brian to the ocean either way.”

Brian laughs, the terror of the night slowly sinking into his chest to be brought out in the dark again. But he knows the next time that he faces it, he will have the other three next to him, just as he will rescue John from the spiders and walk next to the ledges for Freddie. He will make sure to help Roger come back to himself when he wakes up unable to move.

“Just so long as we don’t come back to this house,” he nudges Freddie with his elbow.

“You three have no taste! No refinement!” Freddie grumbles even as he returns John’s tiny kisses and holds Roger’s hand.

“That’s because you have enough for all of us, Fred,” Brian leans down to kiss his temple.

“Car,” Roger warns.

“Well, adventure awaits,” Freddie steps away, leaving John flailing for balance.

“Perhaps it will wait long enough for you two to take a nap,” Freddie turns around and smiles brightly at him.

Roger squeezes around his waist, kissing him on the jaw again, “I’m okay with that.”

Brian nods but doesn’t say _as long as the adventure is with you three, I’ll go anywhere._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments below!   
> ooh changed it up don't like that hmm


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